Just Another Job
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: A one-shot, based on Wrex.


The sun was hot. Not as hot as Tuchanka, but warm enough to make the thin-skinned weaklings complain like wet varren.

Wrex shifted his weight, making the platform shudder slightly. That too, was something he disliked. The place on which you stood shouldn't complain at your weight, it should support you just as your plates supported your armor. Unshakable. Unmoving.

"I told you we should've hired that asari. At least _she_ would've eaten less. And been better looking."

More nattering. From the most pyjack-looking of the bunch, ironically enough. Irony…that was a new term he'd learned recently. It described his life quite adequately, although the thick-skulled colleagues he'd been hired to help probably couldn't understand, even with brain implants.

So, he ignored them, watching the horizon, watching the screens. He'd do what he was paid to do, no more, no less. The rest of the pyjacks would either go along with it, or be left behind.

The scout reported the target in sight. Wrex unfolded his assault rifle, a lightweight model the turians had cooked up. He didn't like it, it had no weight, but it had a good fire-rate, and that wore down shields. That was the job today.

The planet…he hadn't bothered learning its name…was lush and damp. Clear patches meant running water, and that meant animals. Where animals traveled, paths developed…as any hunter would know.

Wrex felt his plates itch. That damned salarian hiring mercs had acted all _superior_, not a big change. But the turian in charge of this operation had a shifty look, and no face paint. Wrex didn't let prejudice make decisions for him. Too many krogan he'd known had died firmly believing that they would get through the next fight solely because the opposition was some weak asari or salarian. Underestimating an opponent was just stupid, and if the turians were cautious about trusting a bareface, well, they'd know better than some krogan.

The turian dug his claws into the trunk and climbed higher. His claws made a scratching sound, digging into the tree as they did.

Wrex grunted. Made sense, the bird-brain climbing to a higher point. All turians liked having a height advantage, came with their background.

The sound of engines whirring distracted him. The thermal scope showed a tank-like vehicle smoothly navigating the river. Through the scope, it looked as if it had shields and armor…definitely more than promised. The contractor had requested hit on some politician…this didn't look like a politicians' convoy….

Taking a second, Wrex turned his head slightly, raising a shoulder to mask the movement. The turian above was _smirking_, watching the oncoming vehicle. Adrenaline surged, but he knew how to control it, centuries of one fight after another had proven the value of that particular lesson. That, and a scar on his main cranial plate.

The tank stopped, disgorging a group of asari. They scattered, gathering samples from around the clearing. Two wore the black leathers of commandos…no match for the mercenary team waiting in the shadows. The rest were…scientists?

A small asari tumbled out of the tank, laughing as she was neatly caught by a biotic field. Wrex narrowed his eyes. Children in a battlefield? The asari were insane.

The order to attack came over his headpiece. He responded instantly, launching his half-ton frame from the platform, shattering the wood and landing with a earth-shaking impact.

"Concentrate fire, lower right!" rapid-fire commands punctured the former tranquility. Some of the scientists screamed, hastily erecting barriers, while others panicked and died for their weakness.

Wrex was careful to aim his trajectory so that it did not aim directly at the child. Asari, even the Maidens, had a maternal instinct stronger than a varrens' jaws. Good, if you wanted to direct their attention, but bad if you wanted to avoid triggering their reflexes.

The salarian was using his sniper rifle, keeping the commandos dodging while they tried pulling back their principals. He was good, with fast reflexes anticipating every move the asari made.

So far, an easy fight. The scientists were focusing on getting to safety, the commandos were focusing on the salarian and three batarians in the jungle…he felt almost foolish for the big entrance.

The turian, on the other hand, was very deliberately aiming some heavy weapon in his direction. No, over him.

Wrex's eyes widened. At a _child_? In an instant he understood…this was never about some politician, this was about sending a message…by killing a whelp. Only cowards and weaklings did that.

Centuries of experience lunged to his aid. His rifle came up, chattering at the defending asari, throwing them off balance. Hearts pounding, one step right to avoid the next warp, then put his head down and _ran._

What people often forgot about krogan was how they survived before the salarians uplifted them. Everyone saw the average krogan ambling along, and concluded that they were large, slow brutes. You don't survive large predators by being slow.

Wrex slammed a scientist out of the way with his shoulder, stooped and grabbed the asari child and tucked her in front of his broad chest. He turned his back to the turian, concentrating on his own barriers and holding the child.

The first impact struck the armor on his hump, almost breaking his barrier. It held, but then collapsed with a second impact. Wrex growled, turning. A third impact shoved the krogan warlord, punching like a giants' fist at the armor plating.

Shielding the child with his body, Wrex dug his boots into the ground and shoved against the next impact. His armor groaned under the stress, pummeling his hide beneath. It gave him time, however, to squeeze off a few rounds one-handed at the tree-bound turian. That forced the turian to change position, allowing Wrex to take cover behind the tank.

The child, couldn't have been more than ten at most, tried slipping out of his grasp.

"Hold still" he growled. "Unless you want to wind up as target practice?"

Her wild movements subsided, but the commandos were circling, apparently the whelp was more important than the others…interesting. Another lie by his employer. If he got out of this, Wrex was going to find his former employer and kill him. Rudely.

A Throw arced around the back of the tank, draining Wrex's barriers. He ignored the asari, and focused a Warp on the salarian's position, firing at a second point a little to the right of his biotic attack. The salarian easily anticipated his biotics, but completely miscalculated for the assault rifle.

One of the asari shouted, and Wrex could see the salarian pulled into the air, struggling to aim the rifle in zero gravity. One throw detonated the field, and the salarian was meat.

The batarians tried compensating for the change in momentum with aggressiveness. Pathetic. Wrex shoved the mewling infant to the ground behind the tank, and fixed her with his most forbidding glare, the one he used for recalcitrant varren.

"Stay." He ordered. He kept eye-contact until she nodded mutely. Good. At least children still knew how to respect krogan.

He waited one second, two. Another heavy explosive shuddered against the tank…was the fool wasting ammunition against shields?

One of the batarians got separated from his pack, trying to flank the asari. That proved his undoing.

Wrex bolted from cover, letting the rage drive his thoughts away. The four-eyed mercenary didn't have a chance, crushed under his massive bulk. The other two immediately turned on him, firing at their former colleague with no hesitation. That solved the other riddle; the team had come together very quickly, and he knew none of the others. The team had been expendable. Just like the krogan.

The world became a hazy red, showing Wrex every weak point on the batarians frame. He dropped the useless toy the turian had given him and charged them barehanded, catching ones skull in one hand and the others throat with the other. He swung them together with all his might…dropping the limp bodies afterwards.

But that damned turian was still in the tree, raining hell on the asari, trying to kill the kid.

Wrex stood for a second, glaring with madder-red eyes at the turian. The turian spared a shell for him…and Wrex caught it with his own biotics, hurling it to one side contemptuously. Then, he started running again, lowering his shoulder to bring its point to bear. Well-practiced Warps flew from his hands, striking the tree trunk about two meters off the ground, weakening it. Then, with all the power of a klixen, he drove his full weight into the shattered wood, destroying the support.

A massive groaning echoed throughout the glen. Branches tossed as the tree fell, landing partially in the river. Wrex searched the wreckage, pulling the turian out by one foot. One of the turians arms was twisted at an odd angle, not that he cared.

He roughly dragged the body up to the tank and tossed it against a tire. The turian groaned, weakly pushing back. When he looked up, he saw both commandos pointing weapons at him. He ignored them, checking on the whelp. She huddled behind the tank still, watching him with wide eyes.

"Don't take another step!" one of the asari yelled at him.

Wrex knelt on one knee before the child, continuing to ignore the commandos. "Are you hurt?" he rasped.

The whelp had managed to find a pistol, was pointing it straight at his head. It shook.

Wrex tilted his head, studying her. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to such a young being. Four centuries since he'd even seen a krogan that young.

"Are you going to kill me?" he rumbled quietly. Her eyes grew wider, and the muzzle trembled wider.

"N-n-nnooo." She answered timidly.

Wrex nodded gravely. "If you were, a pistol wouldn't have cut it. Not that one at any rate." He reached behind his back, causing more cries of alarm to arise. He glared at them.

"Either shoot me down or let me talk. Quit yapping like a gut-shot varren!" he bellowed at them, then turned back.

The child looked up. He was holding a shotgun out to her, stock first.

"If you're going to learn how to fight, take this from an old warrior. It's better than a pistol, especially on krogan."

The child held out her hands eagerly, grasping the stock. Its weight made her stoop for a moment, but she managed to straighten with a little effort.

Wrex chuckled. "This is the trigger, and this collapses the sides so you can carry it. Now, can you collapse it for me?"

The asari commando kept her shotgun trained on the krogan. He didn't seem to care, stomping towards her as if he owned the planet.

"That's close enough." she barked at him.

He had the sense to stop, but his glare was unrelenting. "If you're gonna shoot me, you should have done it ten minutes ago. You would've had a chance then."

She kept it steady, letting her biotics flare ever so slightly. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

He laughed. It sounded like a mixture of a draft-beast and an old hill, grumbling in bursts. It was…unsettling. All krogan she'd met before had just cursed and complained. And tried to kill her.

"I'll make you a deal, asari." He was talking again. "Give the kid some combat training, and let her keep the gun."

She could see one of the caregivers trying to take the shotgun, but the child was hanging onto it with some unexpected determination.

"Why should I do that?" she asked, lowering her guard a little.

The krogan was blunt. "Because you owe me. I was hired to kill some politician, offing the retinue was a bonus. Instead, I find myself breaking contract to help a damned asari."

He tossed his head towards the turian dismissively. "Talk to the turian if you want more details. He was the boss."

As the krogan pushed towards the jungle, she called after him. "Wait, why?"

For a second, she was afraid to have asked. His eyes were…strange. If they'd been on an asari, she would've said they'd been…melancholy. And old…how old was he anyway? His eye locked onto hers again.

"My race is done, asari. I don't blame you for it, I blame the salarians and the asari who uplifted us to be only weapons. Most of my race know we're dead…and so we don't care anymore. But some of us…" he looked back at the child, who was waving at him. "Some of us mourn, what will never happen again."

Before she could speak, he was gone, a rapidly departing figure in the underbrush.

'_Ello, and welcome back _

_This was an idea I had running around my head for a few weeks, but I never got to write it down until now. It's different from what I usually write, but then I'm trying to expand my literary horizons. Any advice (eg reviews, pm's and/or criticism) would be appreciated. _


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